


Wings of a Silver Hurricane

by truebluemoon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/F, Grief/Mourning, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Safe Harbors Isabela ):
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truebluemoon/pseuds/truebluemoon
Summary: When Isabela first heard the news, it was a Sunday morning.





	

When Isabela first heard the news, it was a Sunday morning. It was going to be one of those sunny days, she could tell, with the lack of clouds and the way the early morning light shone across the horizon, creating this beautiful gradient of color. Reading the weather was one of those captain intuitions. It was like an assassin reading their target’s anatomy to know just where to strike. Something like that only came naturally, from experience.

She remembered that she taught Hawke that, one time. She pointed at the clouds and said, “Look, that means a storm will arrive soon.”

And Hawke cocked her head to side, and, while Isabela knew she liked calling the younger one “Puppy,” the way Hawke looked here was like something out of those cutesy little paintings of mabari they sold in tourist shops. “Oh? How can you tell?”

“See the large, dark clouds there? How they’re keeping close?” Isabela had told her, “And when their pace is quick, too, it means there’s a storm.”

“I don’t need clouds to warn that _I’m_ gonna make a storm,” Hawke smirked then, the twist of her mouth that Isabela had fallen in love with. “Me: One, Sky: Zero.”

She laughed and punched Hawke lightly in the shoulder. “You competing with the sky now, you arrogant ass?” She leaned in. “Figures you would. I knew sooner or later the Arishok wouldn’t be enough for you.”

Hawke had wrapped her arms around Isabela’s hips and pulled her even closer. “ _You’re_ enough for me.” Isabela closed her eyes in anticipation, knowing - and loving that she knew – what was going to happen next. Finally, her lips were on hers, each shaping against and around eachother like two perfect halves of the same shape as clichéd as it sounds. Isabela’s tongue had darted out to taste the ale on Hawke’s lips, warm and hot against her own. All the while this ache between her legs demanded to be satisfied, but, no, not yet, not when this could be prolonged.

But Isabela opened her eyes to see no one.

She was standing at the rail of her ship, now, alone. She remembered the missive Hawke sent. She’d read it three, four, maybe five times. _I have to go help the Inquisition with the Wardens and their Warden-y nonsense. I’ll be back soon. Safe harbors, Isabela_. Isabela rolled her eyes at her own sentimentality, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked over at the gently sloping waves. Of _course_ she had it memorized, and of course Hawke had to go be the hero again. Damn it all.

She sighed as her first mate Alec stepped up to her cautiously.

“Cap’n, there’s this messenger boy to see ya. He’s waitin’ outside yer cabin.” There were these worry lines on him that she didn’t recognize. She knew she had been on edge lately, but she hadn’t thought her crew would be concerned about her.

For his sake and all of theirs, she attempted a smile. “Better be Hawke sending an apology for taking so long. Go make sure the rest of the crew is up and ready to go into town to trade today.”

He nodded at her dismissal, and she left for her cabin. She listened in satisfaction to the quick heavy clanks of her boots colliding with the floorboard, not afraid to seem eager at all. It had been a week or so since she’d heard news, and she was ready to ship out any day to go pick up Hawke.

When Isabela first heard the news, she laughed in his face. “Hawke? Dead? Andraste’s Granny Panties, are you fucking with me?” She threw back her head and laughed and laughed because how ridiculous! Was it Fools’ Day? Was this some bizarre Fereldan tradition no one had told her about, where you prank your loved ones? Because he had to know that Hawke wouldn’t just die on her.

That was impossible.

“M’am,” the messenger said, frowning with this sad look in his eyes. “I’m quite serious. The woman is presumed dead.”

“Well, which is it?” She demanded, her voice raising in volume without her permission, “Is she _dead_ or is she _presumed_ dead? Not that it matters, since she’s not dead!”

The messenger visibly swallowed and took a step back, his palms up between them in some kind of placating gesture, for the good that did. “I- I’m sorry. I don’t… I’m just repeating what I was told. There’s no way she- Hawke survived.”

Isabela grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall. “Tell me the truth! Tell me she’s not dead.” She sounded strangled, like some wild animal being cornered. She couldn’t help the desperation when she demanded, “ _Tell me!_ ” But then, seeing the fear in his eyes, her expression softened and she released him. Turning away, she tried to blink away this sudden stinging sensation in her eyes.

She didn’t look to see whether he’d gone yet, instead going in her cabin and slamming the door behind her. “Fuck,” She said, quietly, to herself. She leaned against the door, having no motivation to hold herself up. Slowly, she slid to the floor, her eyes now stinging and leaking with tears.  

Damn her! Damn her to the Void and back! How could she do this to her? How could she do this when she finally let herself love and _be_ loved?

Isabela let out a scream as scratched up and anguished as she felt, letting it echo throughout the whole ship. However, it wasn’t enough. She grabbed the nearest object, probably some trinket she swiped in some port town, and threw it against the wall. It shattered. Its little pieces flew across the room, but she didn’t feel any better at all. She tried to scream again, but nothing came. Her throat still burned from her earlier one.

She relaxed against the door and tried to breathe.

There, she sat, for at least an hour – maybe two – before she dragged herself back up and went to see Alec. Her beautiful Admiral’s hat on her head, she marched straight up to him, with all the confidence in the world. Her crew greeted her warily as she passed.

“First Mate,” Isabela greeted.

“Cap’n,” He greeted, those worry lines remaining on that handsome mug of his.

“Set sail for the Storm Coast,” She smiled wickedly. Her fist rested against her hip, and her confident stance did not falter at his concern. “Then, we’ll journey on foot to the Frostbacks.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Whatever for?”

When Isabela first heard the news, she knew what had to be done.

“We’re going to go pay the Inquisition a little visit.” And make them _pay_.


End file.
